


Understanding

by ShadeDuelist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, Episode: s06e20 The Man Who Would Be King, Fallen Castiel, First Kiss, M/M, Prayer, pre-leviathan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2013-01-15
Packaged: 2017-11-25 15:16:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/640219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadeDuelist/pseuds/ShadeDuelist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in Season 6, so spoilers for those who didn't yet make it that far.</p>
<p>As Castiel contemplates what he did and what he'll do, together with Crowley, there's one thing he regrets most of all.  One disappointment he wishes he'd never have to cause, one heart he hurt.  One man that he wishes he hadn't let down.  And that's when he realises the reason why he's so mournful about disappointing him, and he decides he should at least be truthful to himself one last time.</p>
<p>Written as a gift for castielsboy (from tumblr) because he's my 100th follower!  I hope you like this!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Understanding

**Author's Note:**

  * For [castielsboy](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=castielsboy).



Castiel spent a lot of time in this particular heaven, a soothing eternal Tuesday afternoon, repenting, worrying, praying to a being that he knew would never answer, either out of his own volition or because he’d forgotten how to love his children as he once had.  The angel, the one-time savior of existence, needed guidance – guidance and forgiveness – but no one was there to dispense it to him.  His brethren were either on Raphael’s side and against him, or on his side but too afraid to act – and in neither case could they help him.  The ones that could and did – Balthazar, Helen, the few of the Garrison that were still left – suddenly seemed so far away, even if he knew he just had to say the word and they’d be there, ready to serve him any way they could, any way he saw fit… but he didn’t dare.

 

Not for the first time, he cursed himself for knowing no other way.

 

It hurt Castiel to see his friends, his family, the men he’d bled for, the men he’d died for twice so far… to see them hurt, confused, in disarray.  He could sense their turmoil, feel their unrest, and it killed a part of him that he was the cause of their pain.  It made his heart bleed.

 

It hurt Castiel to have to work with Crowley, no matter how many times he told himself that it was out of necessity, no matter how many times he reiterated that he wouldn’t let the demon king get any shot at the souls, no matter how he resolved to break their deal before Crowley could even think of double-crossing him – he knew the self-proclaimed ‘King of Hell’ wouldn’t keep the deal even better than the man did, himself, he was far from the naïve angel the man believed him to be.

 

It hurt Castiel so very, very much that all Crowley said, all the choice names he called him, all the debasing terms he used – ‘whore’ and ‘fallen angel’ being the least of them – all of them were true.  He was a whore, a fallen angel, a being beyond redemption, a star turned dull…

 

But nothing, nothing in the world, not even the fact that Castiel felt like he betrayed himself ten times over every waking second, compared to the ache that Dean Winchester caused in his heart nowadays.

 

It had started on that day where he struck down Alastair, when the Garrison captured him.  Dean had been upset that the people of the little town would start dying again, and Castiel, true to his nature, had answered that to all things, there is a season.  At which point Dean spoke words that would haunt him for the rest of his eternal life.

_“You made an exception for me.”_

 

The second’s pause that had reigned then, that silence that lasted longer than the heartbeat it usually took for Castiel to compose his answer… it could’ve lasted aeons for all the angel knew.  But in that heartbeat, those aeons, that moment that went on far longer, that rested far heavier on his mind, than it should’ve, Castiel came to a realization.  A realization that he voiced in a slightly softer note.

 

_“…You’re different.”_

 

Dean Winchester wasn’t like the other souls he’d watched.  Dean Winchester had changed him.  When he’d gripped that mortal’s soul tight and raised it from the depths of hell, from torture far more effective than the human mind that he admired so much would ever comprehend, not only had he set in motion the device that’d stop the apocalypse, he’d set in motion another mechanism, that’d eventually lead, he knew, to his downfall.  When an angel gripped a soul as tightly as Castiel had to grip Dean, it created a bond more profound than even human ‘soul mates’.  It granted Castiel a permanent access to Earth, like a landing platform.  Dean Winchester’s soul had taken on a spark of his Grace, lighting him up among the multitude of souls, enabling Castiel to find him even without a prayer, seeing his deepest thoughts and wishes without having to reach into his soul, being able to heal him with the simplest of touches where it’d take more time with others…  Dean Winchester and Castiel’s fates were now interwoven – the angel linked to the human in ways that went even beyond mere guardianship.

 

And that scared Castiel, because the situation he was in tore him apart, loyalty to Dean and the need to stop the apocalypse from happening warring inside him.

 

He prayed to his Father, the Immortal Creator, the All-Seeing, for guidance – not just about the path he’d taken with Crowley, not just about the choice he’d made, but about the choice that stood in front of him.  He could still end it – he could still step aside, blast Crowley into a new level of existence from where he’d never darken the Winchesters’ futures again…

But then he remembered the impending doom that hung over the world – Raphael, the Apocalypse, Dean Winchester’s role – and he sighed, balking yet again.

 

“Father, what am I to do?  Am I to… to fall in line with your Grand Plan again?  Am I meant to Fall?  Is my Grace already so tainted that it is inevitable, no matter what I do?  …Why can’t I… decide?”  Of course he already knew the answer to that question: angels weren’t made to decide.  God had created them, but he had only gifted mankind with that greatest gift of all, free will.  Freedom.  It had been so easy, under the influence of Dean and Sam, to see the limitations of his kind as chains holding them back, as a cage that kept them locked and separated from the world outside.

 

Now, he knew that the cage had been as much to protect them as to hold them back.  His breaking free had already caused the world to divert from one catastrophe to another, from one angelic war to the next.  It felt… he meant to say ‘ironic’ but then it hit him that irony was a human concept and he sighed again, looking up at the cloud-free sky of the heaven he’d temporarily come into.  And as he looked, other thoughts came over him.

 

He remembered what he’d seen that day, and the days and weeks before.  The turmoil in Sam’s eyes and the eagerness with which he suspected Castiel from playing them for fools.  The resigned but firmly grounded suspicions of Bobby Singer, the man that had helped and protected the boys and Castiel as a father would.  The way they’d hunted down demons in an attempt to find out Crowley’s location, and the desperation that spoke from their attempts to get them to speak.  Castiel had taken to invisible visits to the Singer house, walking unseen and watching the men as they tried to get closer to the demon king – and inevitably, they did, and just as inevitably, he warned the man when they got too close for comfort.  But sometimes, when Dean went out for errands alone…

 

The angel couldn’t help it, Dean trusted him still, and he still wanted to speak to at least one of them.  So they talked for brief minutes, about the search and the war and the way they felt about it all.  And invariably, the conversations ended the same.

 

“…Cas, if you…  If you need help… If you need _us_ , you’ll… call, right?”  Castiel never answered – he couldn’t, he couldn’t bring himself to answer.  ‘No’ would be denying the deep pull inside his being that told him that he could always rely on Dean and Sam and Bobby for help – but ‘yes’ would be too dangerous.  So he just kept quiet and went away again as soon as Dean was within ten miles of the place he now called ‘home’.

 

Crowley was always displeased when he’d talked to Dean again, but Castiel ignored his remarks.  He just wished he could do the same to that terrible, terrible feeling in the depth of his being.

 

He remembered the things he’d done to cover his tracks and Crowley’s, the secrecy that filled him with guilt, the shame… the pain at the center of his being for betraying himself, betraying his brethren, betraying the humans under his guard.  Betraying Dean.

 

He remembered – oh, how could he ever forget, no matter how much he wanted, no matter how hard he tried – the look on Dean Winchester’s face when he realized he’d been playing a double role for such a long time.  The bitterness, the resentment, the pain, the harsh words.  The echoes of those had still hung heavy around them when they talked in private later – now a second or ten ago back on earth but several tormented minutes where he was – and they’d parted on adverse terms.

 

He remembered the thought of having to face Dean, of having to hurt him or even kill him, and even now he pushed it away.

 

But most of all, he remembered the look on Dean’s face every time Sam or Bobby, or both, had shared their suspicions with him.  The same look that had crossed his face when they had had their private talk, just moments ago.  A look of defiance, of disbelief… and yet of the strongest conviction, the greatest resolution.  A look that pleaded and demanded, questioned and answered.  A look that no angel would ever have.  And Castiel knew that inescapable truth.

 

Dean Winchester, despite everything that had been said and done, still _believed_ in him, believed _him_.

 

Again, the angel sighed, looking at the pond he sat by.  If only his Grace were as calm as the water’s surface, barely a ripple in sight…  But instead, it was like a tempest in the core of his being, throwing around dust and rain and thunder, tearing up the fundaments of his existence, clamoring for something just out of reach, for rest, for completion.

 

And at the heart of it, Dean Winchester, the worry in his eyes, the smile that had slowly started to fade every time he saw him again, the green eyes that had seen things no man his age should have ever seen.  Castiel started to analyse the situation, trying, as always, to get a grip on this strange whirlwind that had his Grace spinning like a top, making him feel dizzy and disoriented.

 

He knew Dean Winchester was special, because he’d had to go deep into Hell to extract him.  But Dean Winchester also meant something, something more than ‘Michael’s True Vessel’, something more than ‘the man that stopped the apocalypse by loving his brother’, something more than ‘the human that was more righteous than most angels’…

 

“…Father, why do I _care_ about him?  Why does Dean Winchester mean something _more_ to me?”  As always, no answer came, but a thought suddenly arose in Castiel’s mind, a thought that made him tilt his head in wonder.

 

Sioux Falls, back when the town had been the scene of some bizarre deaths around Valentine’s Day.  The way Famine’s visit had affected the townsfolk, including Sam… and him.  He’d suddenly craved hamburgers – he could still remember the number of those delicious, calory-rich fast-food delights he’d eaten, about one hundred and fifty-nine, before Famine had been stopped.  Back then, he’d been quick to blame the sudden craving on Jimmy, his Vessel, and his appetite for red meat.  But now… now, knowing what he knew, feeling what he felt…

 

He’d still been so… so rigid in his thinking back then, so hung up in the script of the Apocalypse, so determined to hold onto the bars of the cage he’d since been freed from.  Now the cage had fallen away and he knew more.  It’d been so easy to make it simple, when in reality it was even simpler.

 

He hadn’t craved hamburgers, not really.  He’d craved something else, someone else.

 

He’d craved the man already bound to him – desiring their bond to grow and strengthen and deepen – but as he could not yet see that, he’d transmuted that need into something baser, craving what it was Dean Winchester craved above all else.  Fast-food, as the case had turned out to be.

 

And with the realization that Dean Winchester was at the center of the turmoil inside of him because he was at the center of everything now – not just because of the role he’d played in stopping the apocalypse, not just because of his importance to the universe but because of his importance to _him personally_ – Castiel knew that whatever had to be done, whichever path he’d choose, he’d have to choose with an unburdened Grace.

 

He smiled and closed his eyes, moving to that spark of light down on the world.  Not even a minute had passed since he’d left, even if he’d been talking to an unresponsive Father for what seemed like hours.  The last thing he’d said to Dean was ‘sorry’ – a heartfelt, meant, pleading ‘sorry’ because he knew he was disappointing the one man that he’d always turned to in his hour of need, the one man that he could trust even more than his own brethren, the one man that trusted him just as much, more than his own brother and more than the man he’d adopted as his surrogate father…  He knew he was betraying Dean, lessening himself in front of him, and that had been the reason he hadn’t spoken to the brothers.

 

He couldn’t shame that trust, that bond, so.  And yet he had, and nothing would hurt him more.

 

With a swish, Castiel landed in Bobby Singer’s home again.  Dean hadn’t moved much, staring at the wall – when he turned around, though, Castiel could smell whisky on the air, and it didn’t take sharp vision to see the water in those green eyes.  Tears.  For _him._

 

“…Dean.”, Castiel said, taking a step forward – it was a mark of Dean’s trust that he didn’t take a step backwards.  Trust Castiel didn’t deserve, and he knew it all too well.  “I want you to know-“

 

“…Look, Cas, you already said all you could say, and nothing’s changed, so what the hell could you say that’d make a difference now?”, Dean reacted, his jaw set and his eyes defiant, and Castiel sighed.

 

“Nothing.  Nothing would make a difference.  I’ve made my choice, you’ve made your choice based on that.  You’re going to try and stop me, I know.  You’d try and bind me now if you got the chance, I know.”  The angel felt hestitant suddenly – the enormity of what he was about to do pressing down on him like the weight of the world.  But, he realized, that was nothing new, nothing to be scared off.  Just another dive into the unknown, driven by a man that had instilled freedom in his Grace like a jewel in a crown.  “…But Dean, that does not have to mean we hate each other.”

 

“…Cas, I don’t…  Look, man, you’re making a huge mistake, and I’ll do everything I need to do to stop you.  If that means killin’ you, then yeah, I’ll kill you, and I won’t even blink.”

 

“I know.”, Castiel said, nodding softly, and Dean continued as if he hadn’t spoken up to interrupt.

 

“But I don’t hate you.  I never have hated you, not even with all the angel crap and the apocalypse and God only knows whatever the hell else.  I hated Uriel for being a dick, but you’re not a dick.  I hated Gabriel for being a coward, but you’re not a coward.  …If I have to hate you for something-“

 

“If you have to hate me for something, let it be this.”, Castiel said, silencing Dean, moving swift as lightning toward him and pressing their lips together.  He half expected Dean to push him away, to kick him, to do anything to break the moment, but he didn’t.  Dean didn’t.  Instead, hands carefully reached for his shoulders, gripping not pushing, to prolong the contact, and Castiel sighed mentally.  Completing an bond between a human soul and an angel’s Grace didn’t require such an intimate kind of physical contact, but it did require that the human soul bare itself for the angel.  And Dean certainly did bare his soul.

 

All it took was a second, a heartbeat, but the gesture was done, and when both men pulled back, they could see the light shining in each other’s eyes.  Profounder than love, more binding than the strongest magic, it fused them together like halves of a whole, and as they still stood, their breaths mingling in the silence, Castiel could feel Dean – really _feel_ Dean, for the first time.  He could feel a pulse inside his soul – of course he could feel Jimmy’s heartbeat, he needed to in order to monitor the health of his Vessel, but this was different...  This was more than just a heartbeat, it was a pulse, a thrum of energy, a push and pull that made his Grace react.

 

As long as Dean’s heart kept on beating, he’d feel it.  Feel him.

 

“…Jesus, Cas, what the…”, Dean said in a hushed tone, looking at him wide-eyed, wonder and fear conflicting inside of him.  “…It’s so… Cas, this… this _light_ , how do you control somethin’ like this?!”

 

“What you feel is my Grace.  Normally, if a human takes an angel’s Grace as it is, it’d burn them alive from the inside out-“

 

“Well, there’s a happy picture…”, Dean muttered, though the awe in his voice nullified the sarcasm.

 

“-but this way, you feel it as I do: as warmth, as the center of my being, as the core of my existence.”

 

“I-it’s like there’s a mini-version of you in…”, Dean started, his hand slowly going to his chest, to his heart – and though many human metaphors and references eluded Castiel still, the one of the physical heart as the center of a human’s being was familiar.  He nodded.

 

“…A shard of my Grace nested inside you, Dean.  Your heart, your soul, has angelic substance now, just as part of your soul now resides with me, mine to keep safe, to shelter, to nourish…”  ‘To cherish and love’, he meant to add, but it was enough to think it, and the flow of emotion he got back…

 

Castiel could feel the emotions flowing from Dean as if they were his own – unlike Jimmy, whose thoughts and feelings he could still perceive, though vague and detached, Dean’s thoughts and emotions were projected right inside of his being – and he relished in them.  Love – he’d always considered it a human emotion, and only now did he see how wrong that was, because if anything had ever felt divine, it was the emotion of love.  He could feel the love Dean harbored for Sam, for Bobby, for the people in his life – each signature distinct and soft, but the love he felt flowing toward himself now was different, fiery and fluctuating and erratic and energetic.  Romantic love, the love between soul mates, between destined souls.  And he was sharing it with the least likely of candidates, the most worthy of candidates.

 

No longer just human, no longer just a man.  His, his soul mate, his chosen companion for eternity, the complement and completion to his being.

 

Castiel felt what being human entailed, and Dean clearly was awestruck by the majesty of his Grace, that he could feel in his very heart.  And that was the thought that got the angel to smile.  For if Dean could feel his Grace, he could see into the center of him, see that his motives were pure and his reasons sound.

 

“…Dean, we’ll both do what we need to do…”, he said, and Dean nodded.

 

“I know.”

 

“I’m doing this for you – for Sam and Bobby and Jo and Ellen and John and Mary and Lisa and Ben and everyone whose lives you’ve touched, but most of all for you.”, he added, and again the hunter standing opposite him, so close in more than just the physical sense now, nodded.

 

“I know, Cas, I do.  Still wish you wouldn’t, but I… I know.”

 

“…I hope I didn’t strengthen our bond only to have it broken…”, Castiel admitted, turning to leave, but before he could actually vanish, Dean grabbed his hand, forcing him to look back at the hunter, the human, the man that was now his everything.

 

“I hope so too, Cas…”  Those green eyes, weary and filled with sorrow, shone with the same light that his own eyes had to have, fuelled by his Grace, and the resolve in them matched the resolve he felt as well.  In that second, an overwhelming feeling of serenity hit him.  Everything would be okay.  And as he entwined his fingers with Dean’s, he nodded, his expression neutral but every fiber, every spark of his being alight.

 

“Whatever happens, know that part of me will always be with you, even if the worst should come to pass.  Nothing but the end of all that exists can rip you away from me again, Dean Winchester.”, he said, and Dean grinned, squeezing his hand briefly before letting go.

 

“…Dude… just go before I misuse that shard of angel mojo inside of me.”


End file.
